Recover Repair Resolve
by heidipoo
Summary: After a horrible rugby accident, Brock is a changed man. No longer able to play rugby, he lives his life in a dull routine, that is, until his doctor suggests physical therapy. From there he meets Brian, a young physical therapist willing to do anything to help him get better. AU. Request.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello yes, this was posted on tumblr, but as I stated over there I said I was going to post the story here and add to it. This story was co-written with a good friend of mine, (you can see that as well on tumblr), and was a request I got a while ago. My spring semester of college is about to begin, so I apologize in advance if my updates begin to get slow. Fools is still my main fic at this point, so that one is my number one priority to finish and update. If you're not already, follow me on tumblr at heidipoo-xox, and send me some requests if you like. Enjoy, and thanks for reading.**

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 _An individual licensed by the physical therapy section has a responsibility to report any organization or entity that provides or holds itself out to deliver physical therapy services that places the licensee in a position of compromise with this code of ethical conduct. A licensee shall not engage in any sexual relationship or conduct, including dating, with any patient, or engage in any conduct that may reasonably be interpreted by the patient to be sexual, whether consensual or nonconsensual, while a therapist/patient relationship exists._

It was said by some to be the injury of the year, and Brock would have agreed with them if he weren't so damn stubborn. Rugby was his life, or had been his life before he'd torn ligaments, strained his muscles, and nearly dislocated his shoulder. They told him to stop, take it easy, that if he didn't keep pushing himself, he'd get hurt, but Brock didn't listen, he never did. He kept playing for the sake of his team, for the sake of his love of rugby, and he wouldn't stop. He hated himself for that, absolutely bathed in self loathing because he never listened to his coaches, never took their advice. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't have fractured his arm, he wouldn't have broken his shoulder, and he wouldn't have had to stop playing rugby because of his injuries.

He dreamed of the accident often. The sounds of his bones crunching still echoing in his head during the late night hours. The crowd going absolutely silent, and his team running to his side to make sure he wasn't badly hurt. It was over a month ago, but he remembered each detail, each particular part like it had happened mere hours ago. They carried him off the field, and the only thing he could feel besides pain, was shame and regret. He remembered feeling like he should have stopped when they told him to. He can still hear the hustle and bustle of the hospital, the reverberation of the morphine drip as it was hooked into his skin; he could still smell the antiseptic on his skin as they prepared him for an operation.

And the worst part? The heart wrenching feeling when the doctors told him he would _never play rugby ever again._ Brock couldn't lift his right arm up anymore, couldn't move his shoulder in the right ways, hell, he couldn't do anything with it anymore, surgery or not. His team was empathetic in every single way, and made sure he was taken care of, but Brock didn't care. He was angry, he was bitter, and he barely left his house after the accident. He was a cripple, and he didn't want people to see him like that. After all, he brought it on himself because of the simple fact that he couldn't listen to the people who cared about him, the people who warned him when enough was enough.

He spent about three days in the hospital after his operation, and it drove him absolutely mad. After the hospital, he stayed home as often as he could, collecting the newspaper clippings, watching the news, the headlines from the accident nearly engraved into his damn brain. He had too much free time; no rugby, no life, or at least that's how he saw it. He couldn't take up new hobbies, couldn't find anything to do with his spare time. He couldn't and he didn't want to. All he did was wallow in his own self pity, ignoring phone calls, visitors, and whatever else he could muster. If he couldn't play rugby, then what the hell was point? No matter what anybody tried to do for him, it was useless, he was useless. The accident had changed him, and even Brock knew that he wasn't the same anymore.

Brock's check up appointment was scheduled soon, and if he hadn't gotten multiple text messages from his friends and former teammates reminding him about it, he wouldn't have went. He was tired of the doctors, tired of hospitals, tired of feeling vulnerable and being treated like he couldn't do anything for himself. Evan after all this time, he still wasn't used to it. But after living the life that he had been living, who would be used to it? So with a tired sigh, he knew he had to get himself out of bed and get ready for the doctor. He hadn't showered in a while, so that was step one on the list. He got cleaned up, and tidied his house before heading to meet his physician. At least he could still drive, that was one thing that made him feel at least somewhat normal.

The waiting room seemed tiny, or maybe it was because he was so huge. Nevertheless, he waited almost rather impatiently for the nurse to walk out of the back and call his name so he could get this damned appointment over with. He didn't know what the big deal was about follow up appointments. The doctor would poke and probe at him all over again just to tell him the same thing. He'd never play rugby again, his arm was in bad condition, blah blah blah. The man rolled his eyes just thinking about it. He hated the doctors, he hated appointments, he hated everything right about now as he sat in the waiting room tapping his foot against the generic carpeted floors.

"Brock?"

"Finally," He muttered before pushing himself out of the small chair and heading back with the nurse. His shoulder ached, but he wouldn't tell them that. That only meant more medication, more medical procedures that he was too exhausted to deal with. He just wanted to get this over as fast as he could, get the hell out of here, go home and go back to sleep. His bed was calling his name, and truth be told, ever since the incident, doctor's offices always made him quite uncomfortable. He was so afraid that he would get more bad news, get more doctors telling him things that he didn't want to hear. The twisting of his gut wouldn't go away until he was back in his home, safely away from this place.

"Good morning, Brock, how are you feeling?" Dr. Fong greeted him.

Brock stayed silent a while before replying with a sarcastic, "Terrific!"

Dr. Fong replied with an equally sarcastic, "Okay!" Before approaching Brock. "Now, Brock, this will be just like the other appointments. The usual exercises to see if your arm is getting the flexibility it had before and to check that the muscle is healing properly. Try to mimic my movements, okay?" Brock sighed inwardly before doing as told. He couldn't quite keep up as he would suddenly get sharp pains in his arm and shoulder. Doctor Fong pursed his lips as he saw that Brock was pushing himself to move his arm, most likely injuring himself more. "That's enough now, you seem to have not made much progress since I last saw you. We'll need to get you a physical therapist." He added, jotting down notes on his clipboard in hand.

"Physical therapy?" Brock questioned. "You're kidding."

The asian doctor simply shook his head, "I think it would really help."

Brock stood up, trying his hardest not to become angry. "You told me I would never play rugby again, and now you want me to go to physical therapy? What for? If I can't play rugby then I don't need it." He managed to get out, not being able to look the doctor in the eye. How dare he! And what good would physical therapy do? It's not like he'd magically gain feeling and movement back in his arm. It would be a waste of time, and Brock wasn't going to waste his breath trying to explain that to the doctor, who was already scribbling something down on a piece of paper.

"Here." He said simply, handing him the paper. "I can't make you go, but it would definitely improve the abilities in your arm. I'll call them and let them know to be expecting you, in case you decide to show up." Dr. Fong finished as he wrote a few more notes on Brock's charts. "I'll see you next month, Brock." He added, before gathering his things and leaving the room. With a tired sigh, Brock glanced down at the paper in his hand, that had physical therapy center written on it, along with a name and an address, as well as a phone number. His doctor was crazy if he thought he was actually going to go through with it.

His shoulder ached, and he was more than ready to go home. He crumpled the piece of paper and shoved it into his back pocket before leaving the office and heading out to his car. The tiredness had really hit him on his drive home and Brock was ready for bed. However, when he finally got to lie down, he couldn't sleep, and Dr. Fong's words lingered in his cluttered mind. If his muscles and arm got better, would he be able to play rugby again? Or was he just overthinking, making a too big deal out of this? Brock rolled over, careful of his shoulder, and willed his mind to stop thinking and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The paper still remained in his back pocket, but Brock didn't forget about it. Sometimes his thoughts would drift. What would happen if he did go to physical therapy? It wouldn't hurt anything, only help. He had nothing to lose; he already couldn't move his arm that well, anything would be an improvement. And then his words that he said at the appointment filtered through his mind and he felt bad again. He pretty much yelled at Dr. Fong saying that it would be a waste of time, but what if it wasn't? What if Dr. Fong was right and what if it did help him move his arm again? There was only one reasonable answer here, and Brock knew that he would have to go to physical therapy; it was inevitable. Regardless if it was a waste of time or not, he knew nothing but good things could come out of this, and he was willing to experience that.

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 **Author's Note: To be continued...?**


	2. Chapter 2

Brock called the physio center and made an appointment for next week. He was told he would be attended by some guy named Brian. The next few days went by somewhat fast, with the same repeating routine he had. Wake up, eat breakfast, clean what he could, wallow in misery, and then go back to bed. It was always the same things he did, just to make life go by. On that particular day, Brock was awakened by his alarm early in the morning, he was tempted to turn it off and roll over to fall back asleep. He was just about to do that when he remembered why he had set up that alarm for, today was his first therapy session. While he did look forward to it, there was still the lingering bitterness that came from his doubts. Brock quickly took a shower and got dressed before driving to the physio center.

Once he arrived, he walked in and up to the main desk to let them know that he was here. The secretary smiled at him and told him to sit while the physical therapist was finishing with his current patient. He sat down and while he waited he began to doubt if this was all worth it. This was probably a huge waste of time and money. He had already been told that he couldn't play rugby, why did he even make an appointment? Would all of this even help with his situation? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he continued to get lost in his thoughts once more; the mere idea of being in another doctor's office making his anxiety bubble up inside him.

Brock was broken from his thoughts by someone calling his name, he looked up to see an attractive man. He was a bit taller than himself, built frame yet somehow he still appeared lanky in stature. His dirty blond hair was gelled neatly atop his head, matching his well groomed facial hair, and he displayed one of the whitest smiles that Brock had ever seen. The green scrubs contrasted against his pale, freckled skin, but he still looked impressive to say the least. Brock swallowed before standing and making his way over to the guy he assumed to be his physical therapist. He led Brock to a room with some exercise equipment, ranging from medicine balls to weights. "Hi, my name is Brian and I'll be your therapist." Brock noticed an Irish accent when Brian talked, and it sent chills down his spine.

"Brock." The other man introduced himself, still unhappy about even being here in the first place.

"Just take a seat over there, give me a minute to look over your file, and we'll get to work." Brian replied, gesturing to a chair in the corner of the room. Brock obliged and took a seat there, noticing how the smile never left Brian's lips not even for a second. His Irish tongue was quick when he spoke, and Brock couldn't help but to find it at least slightly appealing. So he watched with careful dark eyes as the physical therapist flipped through what seemed like endless papers in Brock's file. He scanned them carefully, "Rugby accident huh?" He managed to ask once he was finished reading through the documents.

Brock sighed, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his shoulder screaming in pain in the process. "I'd rather not discuss the details if you don't mind." He got out, sounding a bit more bitter than he intended to. "I'm here for you to help me with my arm, not make small talk." He continued, noticing a frown surfacing on Brian's face if only for a millisecond.

"You're kind of dick, huh?" He smirked.

"Pretty sure you're not allowed to say that to your patients."

The Irishman nodded, placing the folder on the desk, before walking over to Brock and lifting his arm gently, inspecting the muscle there. "Your doctor said you might be a difficult patient... " He trailed off, "I think he's right… But just so you know, I might need to ask you about the accident every now and again. For your arm, that is." He continued as he moved Brock's limb in different directions. Brock said nothing, letting Brian maintain his ministrations with the muscle. "Alright, I'm going to have you do some pretty basic exercises just so I can figure out where you're at, movement wise."

"Okay." Brock nodded.

Brian pulled up another chair and sat in front of his patient, "Just do what I do, and if you can't do it, let me know." He began to lift his arm, moving it in different ways, and watching carefully as Brock attempted to mimic them. Every once in awhile, he would wince in pain, or simply shake his head in symbolization of him not being able to move his arm in that way. Pretty soon, however, he wasn't able to do anything with his arm. After working it for some time, the muscles grew limp, and his shoulder ached in discomfort.

"I can't." He said simply. "It's too weak."

"That's okay." Brian replied, getting up to write something in Brock's file. "That's what you're here for, we're going to make you stronger."

It was quiet for a few moments between them, before Brock decided to speak again. "Hey, can I ask you something?" His voice was soft, not bitter or angry like it had been before, and Brian was surprised at his sudden change of tone and demeanor. Whatever the question was, it must have been serious for him to make those changes.

"Sure." Brian nodded.

"Do you think this will actually work?"

Brian took a sharp intake of breath, even when he was used to these types of questions, he didn't expect Brock to ask him that. Brian cleared his throat before answering. "Honestly these therapies work for most people, but there are some who are not that lucky. As for you I think this is a 50/50 chance of recovery. You have some mobility in your arm but with the severity of the injury well... Only time can tell really."

Brock was flooded with mixed emotions, a 50/50 chance? That was it? Could he change those odds to be at his favor? He might get a higher chance of getting better by going to these appointments. "Well," Brock looked up at Brian through his lashes, "I might as well."

"Yes only if you actually want to get better, Brock."

"I do."

The appointment ended abruptly, and the two parted ways only after Brock agreed to come to physical therapy twice a week. It was a strict schedule, and he had to continue taking his medication and exercising regularly as well. After all, he would only get better if he continued the treatments and kept them constant. On the drive home, he couldn't help but to finally let the doubts that he had been suppressing shine through in his clouded mind. What if this was all for nothing? But he knew he couldn't think like that. He had to keep a positive mind about these appointments, about physical therapy, about Brian. He seemed honest and genuine enough, Brock just hoped that he could trust him to give him the best treatment and to help him get better.

He had to admit, he did feel kind of bad for being mean about it at the beginning of the session. It's not like he had intended to snap on his physical therapist like that. He was just angry. Hell, that seemed to be the only emotion that he was feeling these days. Since the accident had happened, he had been angry at a lot of different people, about a lot of different things. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and vowed to keep an open mind and positive mentality in the next appointment. After all, it wasn't Brian's fault that Brock was injured; he was just trying to help, he didn't deserve Brock's smart ass attitude. And in the back of his mind, he could only hope that this would work, because if it didn't, he didn't know what else he would do.

His shoulder ached painfully, no doubt from working the muscles so much, and Brock wondered if it would hurt this bad after every session. It's not like he hadn't bared the pain before, but if this was going to be an all time thing, then he'd have to get extra medication or something. He was sure it would decrease as his arm got stronger, but still, he didn't know how long he could deal with the discomfort. And it only worsened as he laid in bed trying to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Brock saw Brian, his shoulder still throbbed. "How're you feeling today?" He asked, taking him into the same room they were in last time. The chart had been updated, and he was still looking over it as Brock made himself comfortable in the small chair he sat in before. "And how's your arm?" He added, the small grin never leaving his face.

"I'm okay." Brock answered, "But my arm… Well, that's a different story."

Brian frowned, "Does it hurt more than before?"

"It's been aching since the first therapy session."

"It must have been that you overworked it. It should hurt less, as long as you keep coming to these appointments of course." Just like last time he came here, Brian poked gently around his shoulder. Brock winced when certain spots were poked but overall it wasn't too bad. "Okay nothing in your arm seems abnormal. Unless your injury somehow gets worse, these sessions should only be about trying to get back the strength your arm had." He explained. Brian then dragged another chair in front of Brock. "Let's test your flexibility real quick and then we can have you lift weights. The weights will gradually get heavier as you come to more sessions and by then you should be okay."

"So I guess I now have to mimic what you do?"

"Yep."

That's how most of the session went, Brock copying Brian as much as he could before Brian suggested that he held a five pound weight while copying him. After a few more movements of lifting, Brock felt his arm grow weaker. He shook his head at Brian, "I can't, I feel my arm getting weak." The twinges of pain rushed through him to his shoulder, and he was about to let the limb fall before he felt his physical therapist's warm fingers on his bicep, helping him to hold his arm up. Brian stood close beside him, assisting Brock in lifting the weight fully.

"Don't give up, if you want to get your strength back, you have to push yourself." The Irishman concluded. But Brock could only roll his dark eyes at that one. Isn't pushing himself how he ended up injured in the first place? Pushing himself was the cause of all his problems. However, Brian's hands remained on his muscle, continuing to help him move the weight in different directions. "See? I got you." Brian reassured. And Brock used all his might to concentrate on his physical therapist's gentle fingers on his skin to keep the weight up. He had to admit, even if it was just a five pound weight, it felt good being able to move his arm this way again, just being able to lift again. However, the aching got worse, and his arm began to shake from straining it so hard.

He shook his head, trying to ignore the pain, "I don't think I can keep this up much longer." He admitted.

Brian gave a small grin, "You're doing really great though, even with my help." They continued to go at it until Brock felt his arm give out. But he had no time to react before he accidentally dropped the weight which, with his wonderful luck, happened to fall on Brian's foot, then rolling to the floor with a dull thud. "Oh fuck!" Brian cursed and doubled over to check on his foot.

Brock wiggled out of his grip and picked up the weight with his good arm. His face was flushed a crimson red and he felt like it was about a million degrees. He tried his best to compose himself before he managed to stutter out, "How hurt are you? Oh god, I'm so sorry! It was an accident!" Brock rambled on apologies and excuses before the physical therapist finally cut him off.

"It's fine, I'm fine! Don't worry, it happens sometimes." He grunted out. Brock still wasn't entirely convinced that Brian was alright but he let it be, not before apologizing once more. "Brock quit worrying, I'm fine it stopped hurting already. But I think that's enough for today, your arm needs some rest. I expect you next session though, hopefully you'll be able to lift a heavier weight." He finished, leaving his damaged foot alone. Brock nodded, still embarrassed of what had just happened and was quick to leave the room, bidding a quick goodbye with another apology to Brian. He sat in his car with his head against the steering wheel, he could never return there. Brian must hate him now. What was the point of this if he couldn't even lift a _five pound_ weight!? Brock ignored the thoughts for now before he left the physio center and made his way back home.

It was time for another session, well it was the day before, the center had called him various times to confirm if he was still going but he ignored them every time. He could never go back there after what happened. He was too embarrassed, still not convinced after he had dropped that weight on his physical therapist's foot. He was took weak, there was no sense of him going back. What if he really got Brian hurt because of his bum arm? He couldn't live with himself if that were that case. It was time for another session with Brock and Brian did not see him anywhere in the center. Brian at first dismissed it as he was just late, but then twenty minutes had passed. Brock still had yet to show up and Brian had no choice but to skip Brock's turn and attend his next patient.

Brian had another session with Brock this week and he had failed to show up again. Was he avoiding him? And if he was, for what reason would he have to do such things? Brian debated calling him but that wasn't his responsibility, and he felt like he'd be invading Brock's privacy if he did call him. He instead called Dr. Fong to see if he had heard of Brock at all this week. "No, I haven't heard of him. He hasn't come by here, he still wouldn't have because his appointment here is a week away. Give him time Brian, I'm sure he'll come around." Brian hung up and Dr. Fong's words did little to reassure him, what if something happened? He couldn't do anything about it except worry and wait for Brock to show up, as much as the wait killed him.

Session after session passed by, and there was still no word from Brock. The bruise still lingered on his foot, and each time the Irishman saw it or felt it, he found that his mind would drift to Brock. The older man had captured him somehow, and he didn't understand why. But worry still filled him and each time another session passed by, he could feel the worry growing worse. Where was Brock? He tried to keep a positive mindset, but still, it was proving to be difficult. Another three sessions had come and gone, and there was still no sign of him. Brian tried not to blame himself, but he discovered that his mind wouldn't let him find other reasons for Brock skipping out on physical therapy.

Multiple missed calls, voicemails, and appointment reminder text messages lingered on Brock's phone, and he could only sigh before getting rid of him. He was done, that was all there was to it. No more doctor's appointments, no more physical therapy, no more Brian. He would live the rest of his life with a weak arm, and although he wasn't truly content with that, he'd rather go through with it than face his physical therapist again. He was weak, and he wasn't going to gain any strength if Brian had to practically do every exercise for him. 50/50 flashed in his mind throughout the sessions he missed, but he knew from not going, his odds had decreased even more. There was no way his arm would ever get better now.

His shoulder pain was nearly unbearable, because doing all this had only made things worse than they already were. Hell, he could barely lift his right arm anymore, and no amount of medication would lessen it. But Brock continued on, trying to ignore it the best he could. Nevertheless, it didn't work. He found himself unable to do normal daily activities, unable to even sleep on his right side because the irritation was too intense. Would he lose feeling in his right arm completely? That thought absolutely terrified him, but it was one that came across his mind quite a bit ever since he began skipping his physio sessions.


	4. Chapter 4

But it dawned on Brock one day that his arm was a lot weaker than he had originally thought. Cooking had become even more difficult for him since the accident, but since his arm had been through hell and back with what little physical therapy he _had_ gotten, it had become more of a nuisance than ever. He couldn't reach for things, couldn't bend his arm in the right directions, and when he had dropped and shattered one of his plates because his muscle gave out, he knew something was seriously wrong.

Brock could only stare at the broken shards scattered on the floor, before sighing in unhappiness. And his shoulder was throbbing in pain like he had never felt before. The pain was too much, unbearable. He was weak, frail, and he had no one to blame but himself for this mess. Anger filled him once more, but again, he had no one to be angry at but himself. It was his fault that he chose not to go to physical therapy. A part of him wanted to go to the physio center right then and there, but another part of him knew that he would look like a fool facing Brian now, after he had pretty much abandoned their sessions. So, Brock did the only thing he could do, and went to his appointment with Doctor Fong. The asian man wasn't too happy to see him when he went.

"How have you been, Brock?" He greeted once the appointment had started.

Brock couldn't even look his doctor in the eye, "My arm is bad." He said simply.

"I can tell." Dr. Fong replied. "You favor your left side now rather than your right. Have you been going to physical therapy like I had suggested?" He inquired, knowing from the phone call from Brian that Brock hadn't been to physio in quite some time. Dr. Fong was a bit disappointed if he were being honest with himself. After all, he liked to see all his patients get better, and Brock only kept making things more difficult for himself.

He hesitated before he answered, "I've been going but I think it made things worse." He lied.

"In what way?"

A sigh, and another lie escaped Brock's mouth. "My arm gets overworked."

Dr. Fong looked at the man sitting across from him, his dark eyes boring into his features before he spoke again, "Brock." His voice was strict, plain, and Brock couldn't keep eye contact with him any longer. "I know you haven't been going to therapy." He revealed, and Brock only hung his head in shame. "And your arm is suffering because of it."

"How did you find out?" The older man inquired.

"Your physical therapist contacted me after you missed a few appointments." The doctor admitted. "But even so, if he hadn't called I would have figured it out by the condition of your arm. Do you want to lose use of it?" He questioned.

"Of course not!" Brock answered immediately.

"Then go to therapy." He replied, voice stern. And he knew it was inevitable. If he wanted to get better, he had to go to therapy, he had to endure the embarrassment, he had to face Brian, look the Irishman in the eye and confront him. Brock called the physio center to make an appointment when he got home. He made sure to specify, that if possible, to make the appointment to be as soon as possible. Two days later, Brock got to the center and got called in after a small while of waiting, only to be scolded at by another doctor.

When Brian did finally get to see him, he definitely had a lot to say about all of this and the whole situation. "Brock! Why haven't you come to your sessions? Did you know how worried I was? I even called Dr. Fong! Oh my god your arm! How does it feel?" Brian rambled on and made Brock sit down while he checked on his arm. He poked and prodded around, feeling how inflamed and swollen it was. His conditioned had worsened, that was apparent. "Brock if you have skipped more sessions you would have lost all mobility in your arm!" He wasn't trying to upset his patient, but this was a huge deal.

Brock cast his eyes downward. "Yeah Dr. Fong told me, he also gave me an earful."

"It's going to be much more difficult for you to recover now, you know that right? You'll have to go to more sessions and no matter what happens you better not skip any of these. Skipping just because you failed once didn't do any good. Failure is also a part of recovery, I hope you know that." Brian explained, glancing down at the older man as he sat there. However, Brock felt relief with Brian's last words, he wasn't going to recover in just one session. Though he did feel bummed at the news of him having to go to many more sessions, he felt better knowing that he had Brian as his therapist. He was kind and he truly cared for his patients. Brock's heart fluttered when he thought back to Brian saying that he was worried about him.

"Okay, I won't skip any more of these sessions. I really need them, I wasn't thinking and was letting my pride get in the way. Sorry for worrying you."

Brian smiled warmly at him. "Now, let's work on that arm of yours."

"Okay."

After many sessions Brian had seen a lot of change on Brock, not only was his arm getting a lot better, Brock was smiling much more during the sessions and even cracking a pun or two. They had definitely grown closer, much closer than any of them would have liked but they didn't complain, they enjoyed spending time with the other. There were some feelings that Brock had tried to push down, he couldn't let Brian know how he felt. It was against the code of ethics in the medical field, and he wasn't going to let his little crush ruin Brian's career as a successful physical therapist. But with each session, each appointment it became more and more difficult to swallow down his affections. Especially when Brian was so _cute,_ and he genuinely cared about Brock. His smile, his eyes, everything about him left Brock a flustered and blushing mess when the appointment was over. Sometimes the secretary would wink at him when he left, as if somehow she knew what went on behind those doors.

And each day when he had an appointment, he was excited, anxious to see Brian again; he looked forward to seeing him, and he was almost sure that Brian felt the same way about him. His arm was growing stronger, but so were his feelings, and he wasn't sure what to do about them. If he ignored them, he would only drive himself crazy thinking about what could have been with his physical therapist. But as long as he was one of Brian's patients, he couldn't do anything to soothe the neediness and attraction he had been feeling in his heart.

It was in one particular appointment, which he was rather excited to go to, that he was able to lift fifteen pounds with his bad arm. "Oh my god Brock you did it! Progress!" It was common for Brian to cheer for him in these appointments, it made Brock's heart swell and gave his confidence a much needed boost.

Brock laughed and he felt tears welling in his eyes. "I did it! I actually did it!" He sniffed and looked at his physical therapist with teary eyes, "Thank you so much, Brian." He hadn't felt this good in a long time, and it was a little overwhelming to say the least.

Brian smiled at the older man with tears in his eyes too, "Aw come on man, you're gonna make me cry."

He pulled Brock into a tight hug and the tears started falling when Brock whispered, "I thought I was never going to be able to move my arm again."

Brian pulled away slightly from the hug and held Brock's face in his gentle hands, "I always believed in you." He wiped Brock's tears away and smiled fondly at him. That's when a wonderful idea crossed his mind. "Hey, do you want to celebrate this accomplishment? Go to the bar maybe?" He inquired, feeling like a celebratory drink was just what they needed. Brock only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Okay, here's my number." The Irishman offered. "Text me your address so I can pick you up tonight at around seven. Does that sound good?" Brock nodded again, still not believing that this was actually happening right now.

On the drive back home, he couldn't control the hammering of his heart. Adrenaline rushed through his veins from him finally being able to lift a decent weight, but he was also excited for other reasons; Brian. His cheeks were hot and his gut churned with intense butterflies as he thought of the younger man. They were going out for drinks. They were spending time together outside of physio. These thoughts swarmed Brock, and suddenly, he was nervous. Was this a date!? Was that Brian's way of asking him out?

He shook his head, mentally arguing with himself. No way, it couldn't be. If he knew the rules of the code of ethics, then surely Brian had to as well, right? His thoughts faltered if only for a moment; if that were the case then that meant that Brian only saw him as a friend, nothing more, nothing less. Brock sighed, knowing he was reading too much into this, as always. Finally, he managed to make it home. He pulled into his driveway and pulled out his phone to text Brian his address. It was still a long while before seven o'clock, but that didn't matter, he was still happy nonetheless. In the meantime, he tidied his house, and himself up. He was going to make sure he was prepared for this little friend date, or whatever the hell it was.


	5. Chapter 5

When Brock finally realized how excited he was over this small, trivial thing, he mentally cursed himself. Why was he being so dramatic? They were just going for drinks. But still, Brian had asked him somewhere, and that meant more than anything. As seven approached closer, Brock found himself changing clothes more than he'd like to, checking his phone for the time (and Brian's texts) more than he'd like to, until finally a knock on the door startled him. If it was Brian, he was early. He bounded downstairs and to the front door, opening it rather quickly. "Hey," He greeted simply before allowing his eyes to look at what was in front of him. And it indeed, was Brian, all smiles and hair groomed to perfection. He looked weird without his scrubs on, but Brock concluded that it was weird in a good way.

"I came a little early I hope you don't mind." The Irishman smiled apologetically.

"Not at all." Brock replied, still in awe at the perfect man before him.

"If you're ready we can go now."

"Oh! Yeah, I am."

Brian lead Brock to his car and opened the passenger door for him, Brock blushed before thanking him and getting in. Brian shut the door after Brock sat and he walked around to get in the driver's seat. He got buckled in and started driving to the bar. The drive there was silent, a comfortable one though. They were both lost in thought, thinking about the male sitting next to them. Brian couldn't help but to glance over at the older man in the passenger seat, and just think to himself how lucky he was to have someone like Brock in his life. He had been through a lot, one could tell, and Brian could tell when he had given him the cold shoulder during that very first session. Oh, how they had changed since then.

Brian parked the car when they finally got to the bar. He then got out quickly and opened the door for Brock once more. Brock got out and thanked Brian again. They walked in together and sat in a booth near the back of the bar. There they talked about anything and everything that crossed their minds. Brock grew tipsier as time passed, Brian stopped at his second beer since he was driving. Brock was now at his fourth and laughed at pretty much everything Brian said. He was now clearly drunk, he was slurring his words and laughing even more. Brian thought that it was time to take him back home. After all, he didn't want to keep him out too late. "C'mon buddy, I think you've had enough. Let's get you home." Brian pulled Brock to stand, careful of his injured arm and led him back to the car.

On the way back, Brock nuzzled his face in Brian's neck and took a deep breath, inhaling feverishly. "Brian did you know that you smell good," He hummed, "Like real good." Brock continued, "You're also really cute, I'm glad you're my therapist. I like being around you." His drunken words made their way out of his mouth slowly as they continued to walk to the car.

Brian's skin flushed at the compliments and he glanced down at Brock, he still had his face nuzzled in his neck and was smiling to himself. Brian smiled too, "Thanks Brocky." He said. Brock only gasped and laughed almost uncontrollably, by then Brian was unlocking his car and opening the door for Brock, and Brock was still laughing. He fell asleep sometime during the trip back, but Brian didn't mind. He even avoided the holes so Brock would sleep fine, cursing the government for not using his taxes to fill the holes with more cement.

He arrived to Brock's house shortly and parked in his driveway. He got out and unlocked Brock's front door with the keys he'd given him earlier when awake and too drunk to function. He then went back for Brock, carrying him to his house, always careful of his shoulder and arm. He got to his bedroom easily and laid him gently on the bed, then he took off Brock's shoes and then covered him with a nearby blanket. Once that was done, Brian then grabbed a glass of water and some aspirin and put them on the bedside table for when his favorite patient woke up. He was ready to leave, but he had one more thing to do. Grabbing a piece of paper, he scribbled something down before placing it by the aspirin. He gave Brock one longing stare before leaning down and kissing his head and wishing him sweet dreams.

Brian then locked up the house and left, driving home with a smile. Brock was cute, too cute. Then Brian couldn't sleep as he laid in bed, Brock called him cute. Brock also told him that he smelled good. He was glad that the older man was recovering, it made him happy to see Brock so happy. He rolled over and managed to fall asleep, dreaming of Brock. When morning came, Brock's head was fuzzy, and the light coming in from the windows hurt his eyes. He had never been a big drinker, but how could he say no to someone like Brian? He rolled over in bed, still wearing the same clothes from the previous night, and groaned. His head was throbbing worse than ever before. He sat up slowly, careful not to give himself a headrush, when something on his nightstand caught his eye.

A small smile graced his lips as he reached for the small pills and glass of water. After he took them, the piece of paper on the stand also piqued his interest. His fingers were hesitant in unfolding it, but he would recognize the scrawled handwriting anywhere; it had to be from Brian. And that must have been how he got home last night, and in bed, and how he was able to wake up with two aspirins and a cup of water conveniently placed on his bedside table. He let his dark eyes take in the words, and he couldn't help but to smile and blush lightly as he read them.

 _I had a lot of fun tonight. - Brian_  
 _P.S. You also smell good._  
 _P.S.S You have a cute laugh._

For a few moments, Brock was slightly confused. What exactly did he say or do last night for Brian to write that on a piece of paper and leave it on his nightstand? Something had to have happened, or he probably just embarrassed himself like usual. Immediately, he fished around for his phone so he could call his physical therapist and make sure he too, got home okay. If Brock's memory didn't deceive him, he was pretty sure they were both drinking last night. "Morning!" Brian answered the phone quickly.

Brock chuckled, "Good morning. I was just making sure you got home alright, seems like you did?" He added with a small grin.

"Safe and sound." Brian replied. "Did you get my uh, message?" He inquired, smiling softly.

"I did." Brock answered. "And thank you, for everything."

"It's nothing, really."

"See you tomorrow?" Brock asked, already excited for his physical therapy session with the Irishman.

"See you tomorrow." Brian confirmed.


	6. Chapter 6

Brock's sessions continued after that like normal, except only now, he and Brian would take up more time in their exercises, reluctant to leave each other at the end of the appointments. As Brock's arm and shoulder grew stronger, so did his relationship with his physical therapist. The two hung out more frequently, and albeit they weren't getting drunk each time, it was still fun, and every second that Brock spent with Brian truly meant something. Pretty soon, Brock was able to lift heavier weights, work out like he used to when he played rugby, and he felt no more pain in his right upper limbs. "I don't know how you do it Brian." He concluded one day.

"It's not just me, it's you too." The younger man grinned at him. He no longer needed to assist Brock in his maneuvers and ministrations, but merely he sat back and watched, proud of what he had accomplished in their time together. However, there was also the sad fact that pretty soon, Brock wouldn't need physical therapy anymore, and he'd be able to do everything, do this on his own. Brian didn't like to think about that, because he enjoyed spending his days with Brock so much. And who knew what would come of them after this was all said and done. "I'm really proud of you." Brian broke the silence once more. "You remember that first day you came in here? Angry and reluctant." He added.

Brock laughed, stopping his exercises if only for a minute, "Yeah I guess I never really apologized for that, did I?" He smiled sheepishly. "You're the reason I didn't give up, Brian, you were honest and you had faith in me." He said, seriousness clearly etched in his voice. His dark eyes read sincerity and Brian concluded that Brock was special. There was something about him, or them rather, that drew them close to one another.

"Well somebody had to."

And suddenly, Brian's lips were on Brock's in less than a second, and he was sure that he was going to combust. They were soft, gentle, just like he'd imagined them to be, and they moved together so well, like they were a perfect match of some sort. Brock's hands found Brian's neck, and they gripped there for dear life as he kissed him back with as much fever as he could muster. It was intense; neither of them paying attention to what they were doing or where they were going. Instincts took over, and it was lips on lips, hands on skin, and overwhelming feelings mixed with confusion. It wasn't until the clatter of something being knocked over, that they came out of their frenzied daze. They pulled away with a smack resounding in the room and both quickly looked at what had fallen over to find it was just a chair. Brock chuckled awkwardly "Uh... I'll get that." He picked up the chair and straightened it out.

From there, the room fell into a deep silence, neither dared to look at the other after what had just taken place. Brian broke the silence by saying, "Okay we gotta figure out what we're doing here to save ourselves of unnecessary heartbreak, yeah?" It wasn't like him to take charge like that, but he knew he wanted Brock, and he knew he had to do something about it.

"Yeah." Brock agreed.

Brian lowered his voice to a whisper, careful of the words about to exit his mouth. "A relationship between a patient and their therapist is against the code of ethics in medicine. I say that we should wait until you're no longer my patient to see each other. We'll have to sneak around otherwise..." He spoke, clear blue eyes finding Brock who was still flushed from the kiss. "I mean, it's obvious we both like each other." He added, rubbing the back of his neck a bit uncomfortably. Work was definitely not the best place to discuss these issues, especially not with the nosy secretary just outside the door.

Brock lowered his voice to a whisper as well. "Okay that sounds fine," After all, he was almost done with physio, his arm stronger than ever. It wouldn't be a long wait. "But before I go, can I get one more kiss?" He smiled, unable to hold in his happiness. Brian nodded and leaned in again, the kiss much slower than their first one. It was a gentle one sliding off their lips before one of them had run out of air.

"We should do that more often." The Irishman grinned as he let his fingers graze the older man's smooth face.

"Yeah..." Brock trailed off.

"You better go now though," Brian frowned. "Your session ended like ten minutes ago."

Brock's eyes widened and he started walking to the door, "I should, I'll see you next time."

He walked out and into the waiting room where he saw the secretary wiggle her eyebrows at him, and while he kept a neutral expression, he knew his blush betrayed him. After that, it was hard for them to stay away from each other, their feelings for each other were too strong. Nevertheless, they still hung out like usual, instead now, they tried to secretly go on dates. The two of them really didn't like sneaking around, but it was the best they had until Brock finished his physical therapy. The older man was focusing and working hard so that he could finish quickly. He had given thought to just getting a new therapist altogether so he and Brian could date, but with it being so late in the physio, he knew it would draw attention and be a waste of time. So for now, the two would have to tough it out.

 _On my way to pick you up_. Brock read the message that Brian sent him, tonight they were going on their first real date. They had been on plenty of other dates before, except this one was out of town and they didn't have to worry as much about someone seeing them. To Brock, this was as real as it was going to get. They could finally act like a real couple in public, and he was excited to say the least. The older man looked at himself in the mirror again, he adjusted his tie and played with his shirt's collar. He was nervous, not about the date, but about getting caught. The stakes were high; Brian could lose his job, and that was what worried Brock the most.


	7. Chapter 7

Brock was interrupted from his thoughts by a knock on his door, and he rushed downstairs to open it. His heart was fluttering rapidly, and he was so excited for their date. This had been much anticipated. And he was right, because at the door, there stood Brian, ready and willing for their date. Brock pulled him inside and shut the door behind him. They were still very careful about being spotted and what not, especially with the code of ethics still in major effect. "You look good." Brock said simply, giving a smile. He gave Brian a quick kiss before opening the door again and walking to his car. Again, they were eager to get this date started.

Brian again opened the car door for Brock and shut it when he nodded at him. He was always the gentleman, always so considerate and sweet. After that, Brian got in and started driving to the restaurant. It would take longer than usual, due to the fact they were going out of town. However, Brock kept playing with his fingers and wringing his hands together, so many thoughts were rushing through his mind at once, and he was nervous, although he wouldn't tell Brian that. He kept worrying about getting caught or something just going wrong. He felt Brian's hand squeezing his thigh, pulling him out of his thoughts. "What's eating you?" He asked Brock. He could read the older man so easily, it was something that he had picked up on immediately after they had met.

"I just have a bad feeling about tonight, like something's gonna go wrong. I'm not sure what though." The older man admitted.

Brian squeezed his thigh again, "Listen Brocky, tonight out of all nights is the least we're gonna get caught." He patted his thigh before putting his hand back on the steering wheel. "I understand if you still get nervous, but not tonight. This date is without sneaking around, alright?" He managed to get out, letting a small smile shine through on his lips.

Brock sighed, "How can you be so relaxed about all this?"

"Because I'm with you." The Irishman answered simply, leaving Brock with nothing else to say. He always left him tongue tied, flustered, but he loved it. Brian hummed and parked the car, "We're here. Lemme get the door for you." He opened the door for his date once more and let him get out. They held hands while walking to the restaurant, Brock still keeping a watchful eye. They entered the restaurant and were led to their table, Brian making reservations some time ago, a waiter approached them when they had sat down.

"Hi, I'm Jonathan and I'll be your waiter for tonight." He then listed the night's specials and handed them two menus. He also took orders for their drinks before leaving to presumably fetch the drinks. The restaurant was nice, the atmosphere quite romantic if they had to admit it. There was music and twinkly lights, and despite the lingering feelings of getting caught, this would have had to have been Brock's ideal first date with Brian. That man was something else, so caring, so considerate and helpful, and Brock adored that about him. He was happy, and he was glad that they were here with each other, together.

"You look good, Brock." Brian complimented, pulling the older man out of his thoughts.

"Thanks, you too." Brock flushed, because no matter how many times Brian complimented him, he knew he would never get used to it. They fell into a comfortable silence while they read their menus, trying to decide just what they wanted. All the food looked really good, but expensive as well. Jonathan walked by again and asked for their orders, placing their drinks down on the table, they told him their order and he walked away with their menus. So far, so good. It was still quiet while Brock looked around the restaurant once more, taking in every detail. It was beautifully decorated with a nice color scheme. And he became well aware of Brian staring at him while he wasn't paying attention. "What are you doing?"

"Oh just admiring the view." He answered smoothly.

Brock felt like he was going to combust, instead he blushed furiously and stuttered out, "You're so cheesy."

Brian out both of his hands on the table and made grabbing gestures to Brock. The older man smiled before linking their fingers together on the table. Taking advantage of the moment, Brian leaned over and gave Brock a quick kiss. He would never get tired of the affection, in fact, he'd rather take advantage of it than let it go to waste. "I like you Brock, so much. You can't even imagine."

Brock squeezed his hands before giving Brian a kiss as well, "I like you too, very much." He admitted shyly. Brian's eyes twinkled in response. If he were being completely honest with himself, he _loved_ Brock but he knew it was still too early to say it to him. There would come a better time to confess it, and he would just have to hold out until then. There was a connection, that he knew for sure, and he wasn't quite sure how to explain it, but ever since that very first session, even if Brock was a dick to him, it didn't matter. He was still drawn to him in some way, and maybe, just maybe that's why he was so worried when he wasn't showing up for his appointments. They released their hands when Jonathan came back to the table with their food. They ate in silence, with a few comments here and there about their food or anything that came to mind, but overall, it was a lovely date.

Brian paid for everything despite Brock's protests. He shushed him with a kiss and led him out of the restaurant hand in hand. They got to the car and instead of Brian opening the door for him, he pushed Brock against the car. He kissed him feverishly and pressed his entire body up against him. He felt Brock's hands on his waist, holding him before feeling them slide under his shirt.

The Irishman broke the kiss, but not without tugging Brocks lower lip as he pulled away. The older man was speechless, and he couldn't open his eyes after the kiss. Brian only caressed his face and whispered sweet nothings to him. He was lost in their world, unaware of a camera and a pair of eyes watching them from afar. The date made them closer, there was no doubt about that, and that night each of them fell asleep thinking of the other. Brock knew he couldn't get done with his physical therapy fast enough. He wanted Brian like no other.


	8. Chapter 8

A few days later, after another physio session with Brian, Brock had another appointment with Doctor Fong to check up on the progress he'd been making with his injured arm. And if the doctor liked what he saw, hopefully it would be Brock's last trip to that particular doctor's office. So he readied himself for the day, anxiety pooling in his gut. He wanted to be done with this, done going to the doctor for check ups, done with Dr. Fong antagonizing him about his arm, just done being injured. However, his arm was stronger than ever, and because of that, he had a good feeling about this appointment. Just like every other appointment before, he waited until a nurse called him back, and greeted Dr. Fong when the asian finally made himself present. "Long time, no see." He grinned, viewing Brock's chart for the umpteenth time since he'd been his patient. "How are you, Brock?" He continued, as he finished skimming the last few notes in Brock's file.

"Pretty great." Brock answered honestly. "My arm is a lot better."

Dr. Fong made his way towards Brock, "I'll be the judge of that." He got out as he began examining his arm again. He poked and prodded at the muscles, made Brock do some basic exercises, until finally, he was satisfied with what the man could do. "So physical therapy is working, eh?" He inquired. Brock only nodded, not really comprehending what his doctor was getting at. "How's your therapist? Brian?" He continued to question.

"He's great?" Brock answered, unsure.

"Is he?"

"Yes." His face was hot, and he was starting to get uncomfortable, sitting here being questioned like this by his doctor. His heart pounded in his chest, and he was sure it would jump out at any moment. Did Dr. Fong know something he didn't? He couldn't, could he? "So, am I free to go?" He inquired as innocently as he could muster. "Everything's fine, right? With my arm?" Brock continued to ramble, face getting warmer by the second as Dr. Fong continued to stand there and look at him. However, what left his lips next, was something that even Brock hadn't anticipated.

"I saw you and Brian the other night. _Together_."

Brock could physically feel the color draining from his face as Dr. Fong's words slithered their way into his ringing ears. He knew. His heartbeat only sped up as he tried to stutter out some kind of excuse, but nothing would work. Dr. Fong was too smart, and he was already aware of their relationship. "What are you talking about?" Brock tried to play dumb, knowing that it wasn't going to work as soon as the words left his lips. The doctor didn't say anything, only pulled out his phone and flashed it quickly to Brock. There on the screen was a picture of he and Brian, against the car and making out, that had to have been taken on their date the other night. Brock couldn't think of anything to say as he felt embarrassment creeping inwards on him.

"You are aware that what you two are doing is illegal, right?"

"Yes."

"Brian could lose his job, and you could get in a lot of trouble."

"I know."

Dr. Fong sighed, "As a doctor, I am obligated to report this to the board." He said simply, Brock still unable to meet his strict gaze. Sure, it was blackmail, but in reality, anyone would take the doctor's side just because of his notoriety. In that moment, he wanted to die, or be anywhere but here. It didn't matter if they kept their relationship a secret, it didn't matter if they went out of town, what he and Brian were doing was illegal in every single way, and ultimately, he knew it would never end good. Brock had no choice, he knew he and Brian had to stop, cut ties with each other until after physical therapy was done, until after his arm was fully healed up.

Finally, he lifted his head to look at Dr. Fong. "We'll stop." He said simply. "We won't see each other anymore… Just, please… Don't make Brian lose his job, not because of me." It broke his heart to say those words, but what else could he do? It was this ultimatum, or nothing at all. But Doctor Fong seemed satisfied enough with what he said, which he hoped was a good thing.

On the drive home, Brock cried. A flood of emotions overwhelmed him, and before he knew it, the tears wouldn't stop. How could he face Brian at physical therapy the next day? How could he tell him that of all people, Dr. Fong was the one who spotted them together? He wouldn't be able to, he knew right then and there his appointment would be an internal struggle. For a second, he contemplated not going, but he knew better, he knew that wouldn't work. As he pulled into his driveway, he had to remind himself that he was doing this for Brian, doing it so he wouldn't lose his job, doing it so he wouldn't get in trouble; it was all for him, and that seemed to be enough to stop his tears for the time being.

That night, he couldn't sleep. His tired mind was filled with distress, anxiety, and an endless amount of questions. Why weren't they more careful with each other? Why couldn't they have waited? Why couldn't he keep his hands to himself for more than a minute? After restlessly tossing and turning, exhaustion hitting him hard, Brock was finally able to drift off to sleep, dreading his physio appointment in the morning. When his alarm woke him up, he was still tired, knowing all too well that he hadn't gotten enough sleep during the night hours. Brian was still the first thing on his mind, and he still had no idea how he was going to get through today.

As the physio center came into view upon his arrival, the ever growing lump in his throat became harder to swallow. He had to compose himself, had to keep it together, for Brian's sake. But he still debated on whether or whether not to tell Brian what had happened the previous day. The secretary winked at him as he made his way inside, but Brock was too upset to notice it. He merely took his seat in the small waiting room, and patiently anticipated the calling of his name. Soon, he heard his name being called and he felt as if time had passed by too fast, he wasn't ready to face Brian. It was too late to chicken out, not that he could if he tried anyways, he was sure that Brian would break into his home to check on him. He stood and made his way over to the equipment room. He walked in to see the Irishman waiting for him there.

"Hey," He greeted Brock with a soft smile. He walked over to him and leaned down to kiss him, only for Brock to turn his head at the last second and Brian ended up kissing his cheek. That confused the younger man if only for a moment, but didn't think much of it.

"Um, let's just start the therapy." Suggested Brock. Brian nodded and made the older man do some simple exercises before instructing him to lift some weights. Brock was a lot more quiet this session noted Brian, but he let him be, he was sure that Brock would tell him sooner or later. Brock was done with his session for today and Brian kissed him goodbye, only to not be kissed back. Brock left quickly after that, muttering a goodbye, not even looking at Brian. The physical therapist felt upset at Brock's actions, did he do something wrong? He racked his brain for whatever he could have done wrong but he could not recall a time that he may have done something to hurt or make Brock uncomfortable. So what in the world was going on? Was Brock okay?


	9. Chapter 9

The next session rolled by and Brock was still distant and emotionally detached. He refused to go on any more dates and always gave Brian short answers on text, if he sometimes even answered at all. Brock kept this attitude towards Brian for a few more days until the younger man decided that it was enough. He wanted to know what he did to hurt Brock because it was hurting him so much that his boyfriend, or soon to be boyfriend rather, was giving him the cold shoulder. So he decided to just show up at his house and confront him about all of this nonsense, they were going to talk it out like the mature adults they were and hopefully solve whatever was bothering Brock.

He parked his car next to Brock's in his driveway and waltzed over to his front door, knocking on it loudly. Brock opened the door a few moments later, not seeming to know that it was Brian. When he realized who it was, however, he tried to shut the door but was stopped when Brian stuck his foot between the door and the frame. "No! Brock, we're talking about whatever is happening right now!" Brian used all the strength he had to force the door open and to get inside. Brock stood there, looking like a deer trapped in headlights. He seriously did not want to have this conversation. The old man only swallowed thickly while Brian crossed his arms, waiting. Nothing had happened yet but Brock felt his eyes well up with tears. Brian's stern expression faltered a bit, "Oh no Brocky, please don't cry, I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry." He attempted to comfort the older man, but instead stood there with his arms outstretched, dumbfounded and unsure on what to do.

Brock felt his throat closing up and he took a huge gulp of air, "No it wasn't you. You're not the one hurting me." Brian walked over to Brock, intending to wrap him up in a hug before Brock stopped him. "No Brian," His voice cracked, "We're not allowed."

Brian felt his heartstrings being pulled at the sight of Brock crying over them. "Yes but that didn't stop us before."

"We have to stop Brian, he knows, and he has proof to report us." Brock's tears fell faster as he confessed part of what was hurting him like this.

Brian wiped away his tears. "Okay calm down, Brocky. Who knows? Who wants to report us?"

Brock hesitated before shakily answering, "Dr. Fong, he saw us on our date and he took a picture of us. He told me on the last appointment I had with him." He finally spilled the truth, and he felt horrible for it. "I told him we would stop seeing each other…" Brock continued, remembering just how menacing Dr. Fong looked that day, how smug he sounded when he said that he saw them together.

The Irishman let out a small sigh, "Why didn't you just tell me that, Brock?" He asked, voice soft, not wanting to hurt the man worse than he already was.

"I was afraid." Brock answered honestly. "I didn't want you to get in trouble… I didn't want you to lose your job, I panicked, okay?" He was rambling, lost in his thoughts, and he could hardly look the younger man in the eye. He was embarrassed, ashamed, and he honestly didn't know what else to say to him. "I'm sorry." He finally finished.

"Don't apologize." Brian shook his head, "You were just trying to protect me, thank you."

"What are we supposed to do?" Brock questioned, knowing that he still needed to continue his physical therapy for some time. There was no way they would be able to do that without their romantic inclinations getting in the way. They were in too deep, the feelings ran too strong, and Brock, truthfully, felt like they were stuck.

"I love you, Brock."

Brian said it without even thinking, filling up the space of Brock's small living room. Did those words really just leave his mouth? Did he really just confess his love to Brock? Silence was shared between them if only for a moment, until Brock looked up at Brian through his long eyelashes. He was speechless, in awe. "What?" He was bewildered, and trying his hardest to convince himself that this was real life and not some dream of his.

"I love you and no amount of blackmail or threats is going to change that." Brian proudly proclaimed. "I don't care if I lose my job. I don't need it if I have you." His heart was pounding wildly, and he could see the small blush rising on Brock's cheeks. But he didn't care, he was glad he said it, and he would say it a million more times if he needed to. It was the truth, and he knew deep down that Brock was far more important to him than his career as a physical therapist. He could always get a job somewhere else if in fact he did lose it. Brock made him happy though, and that was all he truly needed.

The older man smiled, "I love you too, Brian."

"Now, please, get over here and kiss me." Brian practically begged, and Brock didn't have to be told twice. He obliged and found himself in the younger man's arms immediately, lips desperately searching for liberation. It had been so long, it felt like, since they'd been able to properly lock lips, and Brock had to admit that he had missed it. He had yearned for the touch of his stubble on his chin, the brushing of his nimble fingers against his lower back, and the feeling of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip to ask for entrance into his mouth. It was overwhelming, and the kiss alone made Brock's head swim.

The absence of physicality between them in that short amount of time they were apart definitely showed as they continued to kiss. Brian found himself reaching for Brock, fingers digging into whatever part of him he could get his hands on. It was satisfying, feeling his flesh beneath his digits. And Brock did the same, allowing his palms to work patterns into the arch of Brian's back. A blissful sigh escaped the Irishman, lingering in the air, as he quickly recovered and began to explore the crook of Brock's neck with his tongue and lips.

"Brian," Brock's voice was warm and needy in his ear. "I want you."

"I know." Brian replied smoothly, and Brock could feel him smirking against the skin of his neck. He was weak in the knees, quivering in his fingertips, and his hot breaths were growing more unsteady with each moment that passed. One by one, piece by piece, articles of clothing fell to the floor. The way they undressed each other was convoluted, delicate, as they took sweet time in getting to know each other's anatomy for the first time of what would hopefully be many. Brock was shy and Brian found that to be incredibly adorable as he took the lead, peppering kisses up and down his bare torso, paying extra attention to his bad arm, and drinking in the broken sighs Brock would let out ever so often. "You like that?" He mumbled against his skin, and the only thing Brock could do was nod as he found himself getting lost deeper and deeper in euphoria.

"Let me do you." Brock nearly pleaded, his flesh heating up once more.

Brian grinned, "You don't have to ask." But Brock only silenced him with a quick kiss, biting his bottom lip in the process. The space of the living room seemed to decrease with the closer the two got to each other, their bodies interlacing on what appeared to be the tiniest couch in the world at the moment. Between chaste kisses, soft touches, and gentle sighs, the two got lost in what was the simplicity of each other, because being together with someone like this was _never_ this good. And when Brock took all of Brian into his mouth, the younger man could only cry out in rapture, fingers clutching desperately for something to grab hold of. This was intimacy, this was love, this was everything the two had been thirsting for after all this time. And it was pure bliss, satisfaction. A few more kisses were shared, lips brushing against one another's and Brock knew that he couldn't wait anymore. He wanted to feel Brian, feel all of him, and show him just how much he really did love him.

"I'm ready,"

"You know it's going to hurt, right?"

"Yes."

Brian pushed into Brock with a low groan as he hovered atop the older man. His crystal blue eyes found Brock's much darker ones, and he gave a small empathetic smile, noticing that Brock's eyebrows were contorted in what looked like discomfort. But he was slow, careful with his ministrations, careful in not wanting to hurt Brock. But the pleasure was too good, Brock had himself wrapped around Brian, clinging to him for dear life as tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and faint moans left his lips. "Brock, look at me." The younger man's voice was husky, a sound that resonated deep within his chest.

Their foreheads brushed against one another's as their lips connected once more, and Brock obliged, glancing up at his lover through his long eyelashes, pupils dark, dilated and intense. _"Brian."_ He nearly whined, the sound getting stuck in his throat as he felt himself coming undone at the seams. He was begging him not to stop, his fingers clawing at his back, nails rugged and rough against Brian's freckled skin. He didn't want to hurt him, but he couldn't help it, it was as if he was powerless of his own body; Brian was in control, and if Brock was being honest with himself, he didn't want it anything other way.

Brian continued his movements, speeding up if only slightly. "Oh god, Brock, fuck!" The profanity left him before he could stop it, but Brock didn't mind. He took in his curses, his whimpers, his yells with pleasantry, knowing that both of them wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. And when they came, it was with uneven sobs, sloppy kisses, and noises that Brock didn't even know he was capable of producing. It took them a moment to come down from their high, but when they did, the only thing Brian could do was laugh. "I love you…" He trailed off, grinning, and kissing Brock once more.

"I love you too." The older man sighed, still trying to catch his breath. "And after that, I think I need to get a new physical therapist." He laughed, knowing that after this little romp, Brock wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself any longer. Brian was too damn affectionate for his own good, and it drove the older man crazy. "Let's go to bed, yeah?" He asked, getting ready to head to the bedroom.

Brian agreed, "Okay."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Like I said, I had posted this on tumblr previously, so if it looks familiar that's why haha. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'll see you all at the bottom of this mess. Thanks!**

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The next morning, Brock stirred awake when he felt the sun shine directly on his face. He was then vaguely aware of the soft breathing on the back of his neck and the arm on his waist. He hummed when he remembered it was just Brian. Brian, the man that he was absolutely in love with, and was even more in love with now that they had made love to one another. "Good morning." Brian said, startling Brock. The older man wasn't aware that he had been awake already.

"Good morning to you too." Brock smiled warmly as he watched Brian wipe the sleep from his eyes and stretch his naked body.

He liked waking up like this, with a warm body beside him, wrapped around him in a vice grip. Hell, it was definitely something he could get used to with time. With a small smile, Brian kissed Brock before getting up and walking to the bathroom that was attached Brock's bedroom, "Uh Brock?" He began, voice a little unsure. Brock hummed an answer and listened for the Irishman's reply. "As much as I love looking at the marks you gave me, my other patients might not. I don't think the scrubs will cover them." He explained, examining the bruises, the scratching all over his neck and torso.

Brock sat up and laughed, "That's okay, I think I still have some concealer left from when I covered the bruises rugby gave me."

Brian suddenly smiled, "You said you wanted another therapist right?"

"Yeah... What are you planning Brian?"

Brian climbed back into bed and kissed Brock once more, "Hm, you'll see." A few days later Brock was assigned a new therapist without any issues and he and Brian were now free to go on dates without sneaking around. Which ultimately made them both happier. It was a huge relief knowing that they could finally act and feel like a real couple. When Brock wasn't busy with his own physical therapy sessions, he visited Brian while he had breaks in between patients, they went out to lunch together during the day, and their growing relationship became even stronger, just like Brock's arm that was nearly done healing. After things had been going in their favor for a while, Brian bumped into Dr. Fong unexpectedly one day. He had gone out without covering the marks that Brock had continued to leave on him. He smiled evilly before catching Doctor Fong's attention. "Hey Fong! Why don't you guess who gave me these lovely marks?" Brian wiggled his eyebrows and left before he saw Dr. Fong's reaction, snickering to himself, glad that he had been able to do that.

Eventually , Dr. Fong did go to the board with his issue about Brock and Brian because he knew the two were still together. Brock was still lingering around the physio center, and the asian saw them spending time with each other quite often, or at least more often than needed to during a physical therapy session. So he readied his evidence, and prepared a statement that the board would have to take into consideration. "Dr. Fong as much as we appreciate you following the code of ethics, we cannot do anything about Brock and Brian's relationship." The president of the board was the first to burst his smug bubble.

"What? Why?" Dr. Fong asked in a rush, dropping his professional behavior for a moment.

"Well, it seems that Brock is no longer Brian's patient."

"How? He's still supposed to take physical therapies."

"Brock's new therapist is Dr. Santos, and they're not in a relationship. Now if there's nothing to report, Dr. Fong, you may exit the room." Dr. Fong left with many questions in his mind. When had Brock changed therapists? Was that why Brian showed him the markings he had on his neck? Was that why he had rubbed it in his face, because he knew he was wrong? Dr. Fong ignored the questions, it wasn't his business anyway, they weren't breaking any rules anymore, and that was the only thing that mattered to him. He went back to being a notorious doctor, after discharging Brock as one of his patients.

Brock's last therapy session shortly followed the board incident, and he and Brian were happier than ever, celebrating the fact that the older man had gained back nearly all the strength in his arm he had lost because of the rugby accident. They went out for dinner that night, Brock practically radiating with joy. However, it wasn't until dessert was served when Brian pulled out a small, folded up piece of paper that caught the older man's attention. "So I have a surprise for you..." Brian started with a sly grin.

"What is it?" He inquired with a smile as Brian slipped the piece of paper across the small table and into the older man's fingers. He picked it up wordlessly and unfolded it, careful not to rip it, dark eyes skimming as he listened to the younger man talk. The only thing that he recognized on the paper though, was Dr. Santos' messy signature scrawled towards the bottom of the page. It was some kind of medical document, but he wasn't sure what, and he wasn't going to read all of it right here in the middle of their celebratory dinner.

"I talked to your doctor after your last session today, and she gave that to me." Brian explained.

Brock however, was still confused, "Yeah, but what is it?" He asked again.

The Irishman laughed, "She okayed you to play rugby again." He said as if it was the most simplest sentence in the world. He had been waiting all through dinner to say it, and that was why it had come out sounding so naturally. It was quiet between them for a few moments, the news really sinking in, Brian watching as the gears began to turn in his boyfriend's head. He knew he would be shocked at the message. "Hello? Earth to Brock, did you hear me?" He inquired with another small chuckle.

But when Brock looked back up at Brian, he had fresh tears in his eyes. "I can play rugby again?" He questioned. "Like really play?"

Brian only nodded, "And the paper confirms it."

"I love you, Brian. You did so much for me. I got my life back because of you." Brock didn't care if he was being overemotional or sappy at the moment, because he was truly happy. The fact that he even got to hold this medical paper in his hands right now was a baffling aspect to him. When his accident first occurred, he genuinely believed that he would never set foot on a rugby field ever again. But he was strong, he did it, and with the help of Brian, he got to continue to do what he loved to do.

Brian kissed Brock, never getting tired of the feeling of his lips on his own, "I love you too. I always thought you could do it and I'm so grateful to have someone like you in my life." A smile surfaced on his lips once more. "Now hurry up and eat, you've got practice bright and early in the morning." And the two continued on with their dinner, the grin never leaving Brock's face even for a second. Brian had never seen true happiness in his life, that is, until he saw Brock on a rugby field. That man really did have love and passion for the sport, and Brian never missed a single one of his games. He was always there, front row, snacks ready, and loudly cheering Brock's name. And as for Brock, the older man had vowed to take it easy, not be so rough like before when he played. After all the doctor's appointments, all the physical therapy sessions, he was more than happy to sit out a game, or take a break when he knew that his body had had enough. But even if he did manage to hurt himself, at least he had Brian by his side to fix him.

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 **Author's Note: Well, we have reached the end of this very small fanfiction. If you guys liked it be sure to leave a review, check out my other fanfics if you feel like it. Fools is progressing quite nicely, and I update that one when I can. I'm in my second semester of college, and I work at a daycare so if my updates get slow just know that it's life getting in the way. I take requests too, on here or at my tumblr heidipoo-xox. Anyways, you guys are the best, thank you for reading!**


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